Forbes, July 20, 2020
The sky is so clean we can see
all the gods we’ve negotiated with Coyotes
swagger through the neighborhood
unchallenged Roosters say nothing
The same ambulance lurks on
our street without sirens every few nights
and leaves with something
broken: the veteran four houses south
who shouts commands each morning while twirling
his parade rifle the battered wife
in the green house across the street bodies
Lights strobe
through our blinds First responders are here again
When the street becomes dark
we are brave We peek out the window
to see Mars’s faraway red glow or to count the dead
stars
Copyright © 2026 by Ashaki M. Jackson. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 19, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
